


The (Butter)fly on the Wall

by Elleberquist6



Category: The Venture Bros
Genre: Enemies, Espionage, F/M, Virtual Reality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2019-12-28
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:34:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21996820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elleberquist6/pseuds/Elleberquist6
Summary: Dr. Mrs. the Monarch unveils her latest invention to her husband, but she fears that he will use it carelessly with disregard for her time and effort. The couple disagrees, and suddenly so much is riding on a delicate piece of metal machinery.As the Mighty Monarch tests out his new "toy", he intends to unearth the secrets at the Venture compound with it. He will see the Venture family and friends in unexpected situations. And maybe this will finally be the day he bests Venture.
Relationships: Dr. Girlfriend/The Monarch
Comments: 1
Kudos: 10





	The (Butter)fly on the Wall

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Stardust_Ti](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stardust_Ti/gifts).



> Happy belated birthday, @ Stardust_Ti !

“ _Nearly 45 years ago, during the 139th meeting of the American Association for the Advancement of Science, Edward Lorenz posed a question: “Does the flap of a butterfly’s wings in Brazil set off a tornado in Texas?” The answer to that question probably differs from what you’ve heard. The concept referred to as the butterfly effect has been embraced by popular culture, where the term is often used to emphasize the outsize significance of minute occurrences._ ” (https://www.americanscientist.org/article/understanding-the-butterfly-effect)  
  


It was a marvel, so small and detailed that it could not be appreciated with mere human eyes. Only under a magnifying lens could its true beauty be appreciated – the metal segments webbing its wings, the joints in its spindle-like legs, the finely-detailed feelers on its head that aided in the reception of signals.

“Magnificent!” the Monarch proclaimed. “Honey, you have outdone yourself!”

Dr. His Wife gave a deep throaty chuckle. “I haven’t even told you what it does yet.”

“Then tell me,” he demanded excitedly. “Tell me!” He opened his arms, inviting her to slide into his lap.

Dr. His Wife did, and she draped an arm across his shoulders. After she was comfortably seated and he had given a contented purr at her closeness, she pointed to her creation and explained, “I’ve had this idea for a long time, ever since you told me about your childhood when you made wings for yourself in an attempt to fly like your foster parents. I’ve made you functional wings of course, but I’ve never been able to make you into a butterfly before. That is, until today, with the help of modern science and virtual reality.”

“How?” he urged.

She gestured to the tiny head of the mechanical insect. “If you take a close look at its eyes, you will see the lens of a camera, which is synched with virtual reality goggles. You see what it sees. You control where it goes with hand gestures. You hear what it hears. You are this butterfly, in a totally immersive experience.”

The Monarch purred with pleasure once more. “I always have been a butterfly, but you make my heart’s desire a reality. Thank you, sweetness. When will it be ready for me to test?”

“Right now, if you want to.” She started to slide off his lap to reach for the VR gear on the corner of his desk, but he held her in place.

“Let me test you out first, please. I have never been this excited.”

Dr. His Wife laughed that throaty laugh he loved so much and slapped his hands away. “Not now, darling. I need to finish my work.”

As she got off his lap to retrieve the gear, the Monarch wasn’t even disappointed – well, not _that_ disappointed – he had known she was busy and would refuse him when he asked. All he had really wanted was to make her laugh, this woman who had given him everything and had helped him to soar. His mission was accomplished. His ears savored the sound of her laughter.

Still smiling, Dr. His Wife handed him the VR gear and a pair of gloves. “Slip your hands into these, place this over your eyes, and I will activate the camera when you are ready.”

“Ready,” he said as soon as the gloves were in place and the gear was on his head. True to her word, a moment later his vision was eclipsed with that of the butterfly. It was disorientating to say the least to suddenly be 1 inch tall – if his human body hadn’t been seated, he probably would have fallen over as he struggled with the sudden shift in his visual field. But eventually he centered himself enough to gaze critically up at his human self.

“Well?” Dr. His Wife cajoled. “What do you think?”

“I think I see why you bought me those little scissors for my nose the other day.”

She chuckled. “I meant what do you think about the butterfly, honey.”

“Oh, it’s marvelous!” He said, as he turned his head. The butterfly seemed to follow his example because it also turned to pan its camera in the direction he desired, which offered him a tantalizing view of his wife leaning over the table where her creation rested. He smiled and said, “Hello, you.”

“Hello yourself.” She grinned down at him. “So, do you want to see what else it can do?”

“Yes, show me!” He was so excited that the antennae of the butterfly started to twitch in response to how tightly wound and jittery he was – he would be dancing in place if he knew how to move the insect’s legs.

Dr. His Wife seemed just as eager to explain as he was to learn about it, so she quickly launched into the instructions. “The wings and the feet are both controlled by hand gestures, but the movements are very different. I’ll show you, but the first rule is that you cannot walk and fly at the same time. Not that I can see why you would want to, but just know that if you try to walk while midair, your wings will stop working and you will likely crash. Got it?”

“Yes, yes, now show me how to fly.” He was already flexing his hands in preparation.

“Okay, copy my hands.” She extended them before her body and waited for him to mirror her.

He did.  
  
  


  
“You’re doing it, sweetie! That’s great!” Dr. His Wife exclaimed. Her blue eyes were wide and she was beaming with pride – both with her invention and his quick study – as he fluttered around the room. Then she extended her arm. “Now try landing on my hand. I know this will be tricky, but I think you’re ready.”

“Okay, just hold still…” he cautioned, and then honed in on her hand. As she held herself steady, he hovered over her before settling his butterfly body lightly on her fingertips. “I did it!” he crowed. He flapped his wings with pleasure, which also helped to keep his balance. “Did you see that?”

“Fantastic, honey. You’re a natural at flying. I should have known you would be.”

“How long does the battery in this last?” he asked, already formulating his plans.

“That shouldn’t be something you have to worry about, since solar panels in the wings are constantly refilling the battery. I wouldn’t recommend using the butterfly at night, although if the battery starts do die at night, you could always fly it indoors and recharge using a building’s fluorescent lights. The rule of thumb is that if you hear the low battery sound beeping, don’t ignore it – just get to a light.” Her smile faltered as she became suspicious of his interest. “Why do you ask?”

“I’m going to take it out now, of course.” It surprised him that he had to explain this. “I’m going over to the Venture Compound right now. Think of the intelligence I could gather, while this small! That is why you built this butterfly, right?”

Her jaw flexed as she gritted her teeth, and her nostrils flared. After taking a moment, she slowly said, “I built this butterfly with the expectation – foolish as it might be – that you wouldn’t fly it off the moment I gave it to you, within the hour of me showing you how to fly it, only to undoubtedly lose it right away on a mission to spy on Venture for no reason. You don’t need information so desperately that you need to lose the invention I spent months working on. Send the moppets or go in person if you need to see what Venture is up to that badly. Don’t toss away my hard work!”

“Sweetie,” he wheedled. “I’m not going to lose it! I’ll come right back with the butterfly as soon as I’ve had a look around.”

“No, don’t ‘sweetie’ me if you’re going to be so stupid. If you really suspected that Venture was up to something, I can see risking my invention, but you’re doing this for no reason. It’s like you don’t care about the time I put into this at all.” Dr. His Wife averted her gaze, and it was never a good sign when she refused to look at him. It was like he had lowered himself so much that he was now beneath her notice; those blue eyes, which could be as warm as a summer sky, had suddenly turned icy.

“Of course I care! I appreciate all the work you put into this, and now I just want to use it. If I don’t use it, that’s like wasting your work too, isn’t it?” He waited a moment, but she didn’t respond. He had been so sure he had convinced her with that. The Monarch continued, “So… I’m going to go now? I promise I’ll be careful with it.”

“Whatever, I don’t care anymore.” She flicked her hand, sending her butterfly spinning in the air.

Forgetting where he was for a moment, the Monarch flinched in the chair where his human body was resting before he recovered his senses to realize that he wasn’t falling, but the butterfly was. He flexed his hands furiously in the gestures needed to beat the wings and recovered before the precious creation struck the floor. By the time he had regained enough control to turn once more to see her, she was already walking out the door. “Sweetness?” he called, in shock of what she had just done.

“I’ll be going to bed early tonight.” She shouted over her shoulder without looking back. “Don’t wake me when you come to our room later, after losing my butterfly.”

The Monarch didn’t know what to say to that, and she didn’t give him the chance to reply.

There it was. Finally! After arching Venture Industries for almost two decades, the sight of the compound on the horizon was unmistakable: the smokestacks of the manufacturing plant, the dome of the E-Den, the glint of that ostentatious gold statue, and that flimsy fence that was so easy to run over with a car whenever he wanted inside. Although he wouldn’t need to run over it today, thanks to the genius of his wife.

The Monarch’s fingers had been cramping with the repeated hand gestures needed to keep the tiny mechanical butterfly’s wings moving, but with his goal in sight he redoubled his efforts easily, and soon he was circling over the compound, trying to find a good place to land. Usually he knew the layout of this place like the back of his hand, but the view was different from above and he wasn’t sure which building he was likely to find Venture in.

Deciding on one at random, the Monarch swooped low and lighted on the sill of an open window. He fanned his wings gently, up and down, up and down, trying to seem like an inconspicuous normal butterfly before he crept closer, peering inside the window. There was a man in the room, trailing a long black cape, and the Monarch recognized that necromancer who sometimes hung around with Venture. His hands were glowing with purple with enchantment as he paced around the room with eyebrows furrowed.

Something important seemed to be happening here. Had Venture asked his friend to perform some ritual or magical summoning? The Monarch perched on the edge of the window, nearly tipping into the room, and he wondered if he could flutter unnoticed onto the nearby kitchen table.

It was a kitchen – he noticed that now. There was no magic altar or circle on the floor. The necromancer’s dark gaze shifted to a knife on the kitchen counter. It raised from the counter at the same time as his purple-glowing hand, reminding the Monarch of how his human hand was linked to the wings of a metal butterfly right now through the wonders of technology. The necromancer gestured and the knife hovered over a peeled onion, and then with a series of rapid chopping motions the onion dissolved into slivers.

The necromancer turned to eye his stove, and as his body shifted the Monarch saw that his other hand was holding a phone to his ear. The furrow between his brows deepened, and suddenly he thundered, “I will not have it. I WILL NOT!!”

The Monarch took a step back in surprise. Maybe there was more going on here besides dinner preparations.

The words continued to roll from the necromancer’s mouth, as smooth, melodic, and dramatic as if he were an opera singer giving his final performance on the stage. “I DO NOT CARE if you already agreed to it, or if she already picked out the clothes she plans to wear. Tatyana, if you gave your permission, you can just take it back. I am not going to let MY PUMPKIN drive across the country in a car for a concert. Who knows what vagabonds, mangy mongrels, or heavy-footed motorists might be on the road? I WON’T ALLOW IT!”

The Monarch started to retreat, as he figured out that nothing dire or devious was going on here, and most importantly, nothing to do with Venture.

The necromancer glared at a saucepot on his stove and with a flick of his glowing hand the spoon started stirring, moving so fast that the sauce sloshed over the side to sizzle in the heat. With one more gesture, he turned a knob on the stove to lower the flame under the pot. The fires of his own temper seemed to lower as well, as he sighed and said, “No, no, don’t upset her. I don’t want her to cry. Tell her that if her heart is set on this concert, daddy will take her. It was just the long journey that I was wary of. I want my pumpkin to be safe. I will carry her through the veil, and we can be at the concert venue within moments. No need for a long and harrowing drive. I WILL HAVE MY PUMPKIN SAFE!!”

Annoyed at this fruitless side quest, the Monarch beat his wings to rise from the windowsill. He stayed lower to the ground this time so he didn’t get lost in the aerial view of the landscape and headed for the main building where he thought he might be most likely to find Venture. He found it easily, but it proved much harder to find a way inside, so he had to circle the building several times before he found an open window. Once more, he settled on the sill and peered inside. This widow was high on the wall and offered an overview of the room – he was glad of it. No one would see him here, but he would see everything.

The Monarch’s gaze passed over the room. It was a bedroom, currently occupied by the two Venture boys, another teenager, and that robot of theirs. Hank and the other teen were slouched on the bed, the robot was standing beside the bed, and Dean was at a desk but turned to face the room on the chair with a notepad in his lap.

“This is lame,” the boy beside Hank complained. “Why are we even doing this? No one is going to read this stupid interview.”

“Come on, Dermott! It will be great exposure for Shallow Gravey,” Hank encouraged. “Let’s just answer a few more questions.”

“Yes, let’s keep going,” Dean pleaded. “It’s a great human-interest story for Venture Home News. I’m sure my subscribers will enjoy it and check out the band after.”

The Monarch had to roll his eyes at that. He was a subscriber of The Venture Home News – it was a great way to keep tabs on Venture’s comings and goings – and nothing Dean could write would make him listen to Shallow Gravey. Still, the Monarch stayed where he was on the sill, curious to see this behind-the-scenes glimpse of the paper.

“Fine, whatever. Let’s do it.” Dermott started to slouch further and look resigned, but then he sat up and his eyes were glinting with excitement. “Hey, if you really want to write about something, you should write about David Bowie.”

“What about him?” Dean asked dubiously.

“Oh hey, we met him once at that wedding!” Hank added unhelpfully. He didn’t seem to know where Dermott was going with this either.

The Monarch leaned a bit forward, curious to hear if this boy knew something scandalous about the Sovereign.

Now that he had the attention of the entire room on him – even the Venture’s robot had turned to see what he would say – Dermott leaned back and smugly crossed his boots at the ankles as he made them wait for his response for a tense moment. “Well, there’s something that I think would make a great story,” Dermott hedged with exaggerated slowness, still making them wait for it. “If you were looking for something to write about…”

“Oh?” Dean put his pen to paper, waiting.

“Come on, man.” Hank shoved Dermott’s shoulder playfully. “Tell us!”

“ _Beep beep beep,_ ” the robot added, sounding peeved.

“Alright, alright.” Dermott chuckled before finally saying, “Did you know that David Bowie has the ability to predict the future?”

“That would make a good story!” Dean’s pen started scratching on the notepad. He asked, “What has he predicted?”

“Well, have you ever seen Bowie’s 1972 album, _The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars_?” Dermott asked.

“Yeah, our dad has that one in his collection,” Hank said.

“Well,” Dermott lowered his voice to a whisper, as if he were sharing the most closely guarded of secrets. “If you look carefully at cover art, you will see that Bowie is standing under a sign that says ‘K. West’. And the opening track of the album, ‘Five Years’, talks about the world ending unless a mythical starman descends to save the planet from itself.”

“And then what?” Dean asked, not raising his eyes from the paper where he was writing.

“And then,” Dermott concluded. “Five years after the album dropped, Kanye West was born.”

“Yeah?” Hank snorted. “So what?”

“Didn’t you hear what I said at the start, you dingus? The sign that said ‘K. West’? David Bowie predicted the birth of Kanye West!” Dermott insisted.

“ _Beep beep beep beep,_ ” went the robot.

“HELPeR says you’re an idiot,” Dean translated with a sigh, as he turned to a fresh page in his notebook.

Dermott shook his head. “You’re all too narrowminded to see it, guys. Just open yourselves to the possibility, and you’ll see it too. Bowie predicted the future.”

Hank’s blonde brows knit together as he gave the theory some consideration. “Hmm, maybe. If he can turn into an eagle, then maybe. K. West…”

“ _Beep beep_ ,” HELPeR quipped. 

Dean sighed louder. “K. West was a London-based tailor when the album was released.”

  
  


There wasn’t anything useful to be learned here. The Monarch flapped his wings to take flight, but this time he fluttered into the room instead of away from it. The boys below were too deep in their banter about Bowie to notice as he flitted across the room, through the open door, and down the hall. His eyes darted left and right as he searched for some sign of Venture, hoping to hide and spy as soon as he found him. While wearing his signature style of butterfly, he wasn’t likely to be taken for an innocuous creature if Venture spotted him.

Luckily, the Monarch heard him before he saw him, and he followed Venture’s voice to the living room, where he found him on the sofa, watching tv with Brock Samsom and Sergeant Hatred. As the Monarch settled onto the shelf of a bookcase with a good view, the men in the room were totally enamored with the events unfolding on the tv. The sight made the Monarch want to raise one of his magnificent eyebrows – he would have done so, if not for the VR googles. Football?

As a player wearing a red jersey rushed to the endzone, Brock shouted and leapt up from the sofa. It was then that the Monarch noticed Brock was wearing a jersey that matched the player’s one. “Don’t stop, don’t stop, that’s it!!”

“Jeez, Brock, are you watching the game, or having…?” Rusty started to sass, but his words were cut off suddenly as the player made a touchdown. Brock and Hatred erupted with shouts and whoops of joy, and Rusty joined in. When the excitement died down and the players on the field were regrouping to start another play, Rusty got up and walked over to his bar. He offered, “Can I make anyone something? A Red Mocho Kooler? Hunchback? Slim Jim Fizz?”

“What’s in those?” Hatred asked. He and Rusty were both wearing their usual Venture speed suits, rather than the jersey that Brock was sporting.

“Well, a Red Mocho Kooler is Kahlúa, Hershey’s Chocolate Syrup, and a dash of red Kool-Aid. A hunchback is ketchup and bourbon. A Slim Jim Fizz is—”

Hatred cut him off, “I think I’ll just stick with a beer if you’ve got one.”

“Good choice,” Brock said under his breath, never taking his eyes off the tv.

“Suit yourself.” Rusty said with a shrug, as he got Hatred’s beer out of the minifridge under the bar. “I think I’ll make myself a Hot Mummy.”

“Can I ask ya something, Doc?” Hatred drawled, as Rusty started mixing a drink. “You don’t strike me as much of a football fan. This get together was the last thing I expected from you.”

Rusty smiled. “It’s the State University team playing. I’ve got to support my home team.”

“Yeah… you never came out to support them when I was on the team,” Brock commented before sipping from his beer. The crease at the corner of his mouth showed that he wasn’t really bothered, but more likely was just having fun at Venture’s expense.

“You played State?” Hatred asked with a grin.

“Mhm,” Brock grunted with a seeming lack of interest, but then his eyes flashed with delight as the players in red jerseys stopped the opposing team from gaining ground. He pointed at the screen with his beer bottle. “You see that? Right there! That’s the most important thing in our business.”

“What?” Hatred blinked at the screen.

“Defense, man! Defense. We’re bodyguards. We always need to have a good defense play. That’s the most important thing I learned on the football field.”

“I never thought about it like that before.” Hatred’s eyes fixed on the screen with renewed interest.

“Yeah, study up,” Rusty said derisively as he returned to the sofa with his Hot Mummy. “Learn how to protect me from the terrifying butterflies.”

There was no mistaking the tone of Venture’s voice. How dare he. HOW DARE _HE_! The Monarch would have frothed at the mouth with rage if he could have. As it was, his tiny butterfly body was shaking on the shelf as rage made his hands quiver. He was debating what to do next. Should he divebomb Venture? He didn't care about exposing his presence here anymore, solong as he could hurt Venture. Make him hurt as much as the words had wounded him.

“Hey, you have a package.” Henchman 21, dressed as a Jedi master, knocked on the wall by the living room doorway which led from the kitchen, belatedly announcing his entrance.

“What was that?” Hatred growled. “And what are you doing in here? I told you the house is off limits. Or better yet, why not make the whole property off limits?”

“I’ll do that when you start doing a better job as a bodyguard than an ex-henchman,” Rusty snarked before taking a sip of his drink.

Hatred seemed about to protest, but Henchman 21 hurried to say, “Alright, alright. I’m going back to the yard, don’t blow a gasket. Just thought you’d want to know someone left a package at the gate before it gets stolen or something.”

“I’ll get it,” Hatred grumbled. He dragged himself off the couch, glaring at Henchman 21 the whole time.

Rather than retreating the way he’d come in the room, Henchman 21 announced, “I’m going to go out the front. Patrol the other side of the perimeter.”

Brock just glanced at Hatred who was headed the other way, and then nodded to Henchman 21 before returning his attention to the game on the tv. And Rusty never looked up at all, trusting Brock’s keen eyes to catch anything suspicious.

When he was unwatched by anyone in the room, Henchman 21’s eyes flicked up to the bookcase as he was walking out of the room. His eyes gazed directly at the monarch butterfly mechanism perched there, and he nodded his head in an unmistakable message to follow him.

Thinking that perhaps his most loyal henchman had some intel for him, the Monarch flitted quickly after him before Brock could turn to notice him. His henchman was watching for him and careful to not close doors until the Monarch had fluttered through, but eventually the butterfly settled on his shoulder, figuring that would be the easiest way to travel with his henchman, unnoticed by Venture’s bodyguard if he was watching them through a window or surveillance cameras.

Other that glancing at him when the Monarch’s small butterfly form settled on his shoulder, Henchman 21 didn’t say a word or give any indication that he knew his old boss was with him. He must have been wary that they were being watched too because he didn’t say anything on the long walk across the yard and through the woods. It wasn’t until they reached a makeshift camp in the woods – a lean-to tent, burnt-out campfire, and cooler of supplies – that his henchman spoke as he settled down on a log. “Okay, Monarch. I know that’s you.”

The Monarch fluttered off his shoulder to rest on the lid of the cooler so that he could see Henchman 21’s face. He waited for him to continue.

His henchman leaned closer to get a better view of the metal butterfly. “It looks like there is a speaker on your mouth. Can’t you talk?”

The Monarch just stared at him.

Henchman 21 signed. “I bet your wife told you how to communicate but you weren’t listening because you were too busy playing with your new toy.” He ran a hand through his hair in apparent frustration; the Monarch was just as frustrated as he continued to stare. Finally, his henchman looked at him with bright eyes and said, “Are you using a VR headset?”

The Monarch stared at him.

“There’s a few things you can check. First, the obvious: is your mic jack plugged in?” he asked. When no answer came, Henchman 21 continued rambling, “Now, make sure your headset is the preferred audio input. Click the gear icon on the top right, then settings, then devices. Audio input in the VR should be set to the microphone and transmit volume should be up.”

“It might be obvious to you, but not to me.” The Monarch complained, after plugging in the mic jack to his VR headset. “I’ve never used one of these fucking things before.”

“Oh!” Henchman 21 shouted as he finally heard his old boss’ voice. “Hey, so now I can ask you what you’re doing here.”

“What am I doing here?” He parroted, feeling the sting of disappointment that his henchman had lured him out here for questions, not to share information that he had gathered while spying. The Monarch’s disappointment gave way to annoyance though, and his temper flared. “What does it look like I’m doing here? I’m spying on Venture!”

“Okay then,” Henchman 21 said slowly, seeming like he had expected that answer. “You have learned today that he’s a fan of State University’s football team. Great. Are you going to go home now?”

“No,” the Monarch snapped. “I’m not done arching yet. I’m going back in there.”

Henchman 21 sighed. “And what are you going to do? Spy on them watching tv? Venture’s not doing anything today! He’s not building anything, not planning, not going anywhere. There’s nothing you can do here today.”

“You underestimate me,” the Monarch said, and his temper subsided as his plan became clear to him. “I can do some remote arching, even if all I have to use is a small butterfly. I can defeat Venture even in this form. I can fly at his head and scratch his face with my sharp legs! I can poke his eyes with my wings. Oh! Or no, this is the best idea yet…” The Monarch’s voice increased vastly in volume as he shouted his master plan as it came to him, “When Venture’s mouth gapes open wide as it so often does as he spews nonsense and drivel, I will descend upon him like the eagle of justice did upon Prometheus. Except I will aim for his gaping maw, not his liver. I will lodge myself there like a pepper-soaked shrimp in the throat of that jerk from _Mrs. Doubtfire_. And then. THEN! I will have my revenge!”

“Yeah, for a second. And then someone will give Doc a Heimlich,” his henchman said. “Or no, you know what’s more likely? Someone will smack you out of the air before your butterfly gets anywhere near the Doc, and then he’ll step on you. Have you forgotten who is sitting next to him on the sofa? Brock Samson. That guy isn’t going to miss anything. You won’t get anywhere near the Doc.”

“So what? I’ll have tried.”

Henchman 21 sighed. “And you’ll just take off the VR goggles at home after Brock steps on this butterfly. You’ll just shrug and go on with your day like nothing happened? Yeah, I know you would… But your wife made this thing for you, am I right? It looks like something she would make. And what will she think when you tell her how you threw this butterfly away for nothing?”

“What do you care?” the Monarch said like a petulant child. He wasn’t listening for a reply; his own thoughts were reeling as he finally remembered what was more important than arching. He had once chosen his relationship with the woman who would be his wife over his vendetta with Venture, and he intended to do that again. He wouldn’t jeopardize her feelings by tossing away this little creation.

Henchman 21 looked away and shrugged stiffly. “I just think she deserves to be treated right.” He seemed to shake off whatever was making him awkward, and he said in a firm voice, “Monarch, I think you should go home to your wife.”

“Yes, well…” The Monarch was in agreement with him, now that Dr. His Wife’s words and warnings were once again clear in his head, but he still felt the desire to present today’s outing as a victory. “Very well then. I think that I have gathered enough intelligence for the day. I have learned about another of Venture’s interests – all the better to crush his dreams! I learned the secret ingredients Venture puts in his Hot Mummy beverage at last! I have heard Samson give Hatred tips on security, so that I might circumvent them. I know what will be in the next publication of the Venture Home News. And about a secret power that David Bowie possesses! Oh, and that necromancer, I learned that he will… be escorting his daughter to a concert soon. So that means that Venture’s ally might be out of town! I think that is a pretty successful mission.”

“Sounds like it,” Henchman 21 said with a smile, looking content now that his former boss was agreeing with him.

“Yes, I will go now, and tell my wife of this victory!” Monarch boomed as he beat his wings to rise steadily in the air. “Keep watch on them, my loyal henchman! Report to me of any suspicious activity you see!”

Henchman 21 wore a wry smile as he waved in farewell to his old boss. He called after him, “You know I don’t work for you anymore!”

The Monarch didn’t answer him as he flew away, but his old henchman hadn’t been expecting him to.

  
The Monarch disrobed in darkness before slipping into bed beside his wife. She was turned away from him and breathing steadily, but he didn’t doubt that she was aware of his entrance. He had slept beside her long enough to know when she was only pretending to be asleep, and he also knew when it was best to wait for her to have the first word. So, he waited patiently.

“So, you’re back.” She said, still facing the wall.

“I am. You said not to wake you.”

“I said don’t wake me if you lost my butterfly.” She sighed before continuing, “I guess that means you lost it. All that work for… Monarch, all my work…”

The Monarch wrapped his arms around his wife, snuggled close to her, and placed a kiss on her shoulder. “Wake up, sleepyhead.”

She absorbed that for a moment before turning her head a bit to face him as best she could while still on her side, spooned against him. He could only see the outline of her profile in this position, so he doubted she could see much of him. Her turning to face him was more metaphorical in gesture than physical or visual, and he hugged her all the tighter for it. She said, “You mean it? You didn’t break it?”

“Your work is safe and sound back in your lab, my brilliant scientist. All is well. But let’s set our work aside for tonight. What do you say?”

Even in the dim light, he could see her smile. Dr. His Wife said, “I think that’s the best plan you’ve ever had.”


End file.
